


permission

by asexuelf



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Elf/Elf Relationship(s), Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hair Braiding, Healing, Loss, Past Abuse, elves kissing. what could be betta than this.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/asexuelf
Summary: Fenris' hands may not be trembling, but hers are.
Relationships: Fenris/Merrill (Dragon Age)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	permission

**Author's Note:**

> a little drabble i've been poking at for the few people who ship this pairing xD enjoy!

For as unpracticed as they are, Fenris' fingers don't tremble in the slightest as they weave her hair into tight plaits.

They don't pull or pinch, only occasionally brushing against the soft skin of her neck with too-hot lyrium, and she feels herself wanting to lean backwards into the comfortingly familiar pressure. She doesn't though, if only to save him the nuisance of redoing the entire braid. Maybe she wouldn't mind it, but she has a feeling he would. Then again, she always has that feeling… The distant ache of _they don't really want to be here_ that shouts itself raw every time she comes near her friends.

Ah, but she's gotten good at ignoring it. Mostly.

"Where did you learn to do this?" It's a fight not to turn her head to look at him, but Merrill manages it. Mostly. Always _mostly._ "Your hair isn't long enough to braid, not unless it's a very small one. Did it used to be?"

She can hear the sideways smile in his voice, as familiar now as the gentle tug at her scalp. That, at least, is good at combating the ache in her gut. "It did, a long time ago now. Would that surprise you?" His voice lilts off awkwardly as he inhales. "Although, I'd rather not discuss that time."

"Sure. Of course."

That's a common thread with Fenris, she thinks, but she's hardly one to judge. There are too many tales she'll never find the strength to share with him either. She's getting better at sharing, whispering quiet confessions under too-light blankets, against scarred skin and calloused hands, but some stories are her own.

She nearly leaps out of her skin when Fenris presses a sudden kiss to her neck. It has a bit too much bite to be an apology.

"Oh!" she breathes out in surprise. "How friendly."

He laughs. "I can be friendly, when I want to be." And then he hums, thoughtful. Confessional. "I- sometimes wonder. My lost memories… Did I once braid a mother's hair? A sister's? I know I did not braid my own."

A silence passes over them, not quite awkward. Fraught and timid, too close to pity to truly be comfortable, but it passes with Fenris' sigh.

"I suppose I'll never know."

And then he returns to braiding, as steady as he began.

It makes Merrill wonder sometimes too. It's a guilty thing, _wondering_ so often about things that aren't her business - about things that were stolen from Fenris and can't be taken back… but Merrill's not one to let things fall through her grasp so easily. She may no longer be a Second, but she was _made_ to be a Keeper, meant for it down to her bones, and she'll take as many stolen things back as she can hold in her hands, in her teeth.

"I used to braid her hair," she starts. She winces at the odd timing, the way it makes his hands pause in her hair for the shortest moment. Fenris may not be trembling, but she is. "Mahariel. My- My friend."

"The Hero of Ferelden?" 

He always sounds so impressed when he says those words; it's a little funny, given the scoffing amusement _The Champion of Kirkwall_ seems to pull from him. She can't help but puff with pride, though, even as that growing heart in her chest breaks a little more at the thought of her lost friend.

The tale of the Hero of Ferelden is a tragedy everyone knows. The few that believe it speak of Merrill's clanmate in hushed whispers, but they only speak of the Warden. Never of Mahariel. Never of the funny girl who spent too long hunting too little game with Tamlen, who played chase-and-be-chased with the youngest children, who always drank a little too much dandelion wine when she was allowed it.

"Yes," Merrill finally whispers. Her voice wavers less than her fingers, but only slightly. "She prefered, um, bigger braids, usually just one long braid down her back or two at the shoulder. Not the many smaller ones that I prefer."

"The style works for you. Did she braid yours as well?"

Merrill nods. "I- You know I wasn't- I wasn't _well-liked_ , even before Marethari…" _Even before_ **_I_ ** _made_ **_my_ ** _choice._ She sighs and closes her eyes. "Well, I was a bit isolated, but Mahariel and Tamlen, they- they put up with me. And Mahariel, she would help me do my braids sometimes, those days when doing it myself seemed like too much."

She can feel Fenris' eyes on the back of her head, staring through her skull. "...Do you have these days often?" There's no judgement in his voice, just rumbling honey and gentle concern, but she tenses a little anyways. After so long in the loneliness, being seen seems to hurt more than being invisible.

"No," she says too-quickly, too-lightly. Then, "Yes. More than I used to, which I- don't understand. I'm happier now, if you'd believe. I have friends. I have you."

"We aren't friends?"

He's teasing, but she reaches back to put a hand on his knee anyways, to squeeze at the muscle of his thigh. "Friends and lovers. _Vhenan…_ "

" _Cara._ " He doesn't stop braiding. " _Amata._ "

Her lips twitch. " _Lethallin_. _Enansal._ "

"I-" Fenris huffs, the way he always does when she calls him that. She can imagine the way it blows through the hair that falls so frequently into his face. "I am no blessing."

"Nonsense." The word _enansal_ is more… _permission_ than the human Chantry's idea of a divine gift, but Fenris doesn't need to know that. "You are every bit a blessing to me."

He doesn't argue. She can't see him, but she thinks he's smiling.

In the silence, her mind begins to wander (as it so often seems to), and the fingers in her hair start to feel more and more like Mahariel's. It seems sometimes that the longer time grows between the death of her only friends, the stronger their absence touches her. She wonders if Fenris feels that way. She wonders how to stop wondering.

She's never been very good at that, so she gives up on fighting it. It's better to focus on one's abilities, after all; at the very least, she can try to fill the gaps in his past with her own. Some stories are hers and hers alone, but she was a Second - she was to be _Keeper_ \- and a Keeper's job is to share stories.

When Fenris is finished and all her braids are familiar in their weight against her scalp, against the backs of her ears, she smiles. When he takes her hand to turn her around and pull her to his chest, she lets him, nuzzling into the warmth of him. Later tonight, when they lie side-by-side in her too-small bed, she'll tell him about Tamlen, about her mother, but for now…

For now, she allows herself to savor the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading 💖


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